No Mercy (14 page)

Father Dom smiled at the little girl on his office sofa and tried to make her feel at home. She'd arrived only an hour ago, and she was struggling to be bra of the kids, Roman Alexander among them. Mama called me just to give me a heads-up, but if Mama is disturbed enough to call the cops, then I think it's worth looking into."

Dom steeled himself for news he knew he wouldn't like. "And because Mama called, I'm going to guess that the talking was more like touching?"

"Not exactly, but she seemed to think he crossed a line. The guy asked questions about Venice. About where she worked and what she did there. I don't know if he knew that Roman is her son, but Roman didn't know any better, so he just answered with the truth. About the time Mama saw them together and intervened, Roman was about to go with him down the hill to show him the way."

"Who was this guy?"

"Nobody'd ever seen him before. Well dressed, they said. Suit and tie."

Dom's stomach tightened.
There are no coincidences.
Dom pinched his lower lip and scowled. "Didn't touch him, though?"

"Nope. Didn't do anything I could arrest him for, even if I knew who he was or where he went."

"Did he ever show up at Venice's office?"

"Not that I know of. I asked Mama to check that out and call me if he did. I haven't heard back from her, so I can only assume..." He didn't bother to finish the sentence. "Frankly, Father, I'm not as concerned about Venice as I am about strange guys hanging around an orphanage talking to little boys."

"It's not an orphanage." It was an important distinction in Dom's mind.

"Still, I think you can see my point."

"I do. What do you recommend?"

The chief shrugged. "I don't know. I was hoping that maybe you could shed a little light on what your friends at Security Solutions are up to. Does this have something to do with that?"

Dom didn't like the tone of the question any more than he liked being stuck in the middle. "It wouldn't hurt to be more vigilant over the next few days," he said.

"Claymores?" Stephenson gasped. "I haven't seen one of these in years." They were out in the front yard of the lodge, making the final preparations for their defense.

Jonathan couldn't tell from the man's tone whether he was impressed or appalled. "One of the best antipersonnel weapons ever invented," he said. "But they're only a last resort, understand?"

"So if we see someone in the clearing, we just blow them up?" Jesse asked.

Jonathan shook his head. "No, if you see
a lot
of someones, and you know they're all OpFor--excuse me, opposition force--then you can use them, and then only if they're close. Effective range is only about eighty yards."

"I've heard of claymores," Thomas said. "Didn't they use them in
Platoon
?"

Jonathan chuckled. The modern military was looking more and more like a video game every day. "Claymores have been around forever." He lifted the wedge-shaped plastic box and displayed it to the group. "This baby has 700 steel balls in front of about a pound and a half of plastic explosive. When they detonate, they send a wall of buckshot out in a sixty-degree pattern that makes living through violence, while others just like to fight. I imagine a good handful will disappear as soon as the first bullet passes their head. The ones who are the most frightened will become the most fearless fighters."

Jesse cocked his head. "Do I hear admiration in your voice?"

Jonathan continued working while he talked. "Respect is a better word. I respect anyone willing to die for a cause."

"Even terrorists?" Thomas asked.

Jonathan nodded. "Even them."

"But they're the enemy," Jesse protested.

"And my goal is to help them die for their cause. But I still respect them."

"So, what's next?" Stephenson asked.

Shadows were getting very long now; it would be dark soon. The explosives were set, the weapons were loaded, and the satellite link was established. His troops and his camp were as prepared as they were going to get. "I guess it's time to make your phone call," he said.

Stephenson's expression didn't change as he heard the words, but color drained from his face. He turned away and hobbled up the steps into the cabin.

"What phone call?" Gail asked.

"The one that's going to bring hell to the front porch," he said. "We alerted Ivan and his gang to our location by using Steve's credit card at the Wal-Mart back in town. We wanted to get them on the road in the correct general direction. When Steve turns on his cell phone and makes a call, they'll be able to zero right in on us. We're at the point of no return."

Gail cocked her head. "Why are you really doing this?" she asked.

"I'd like to know that myself," Jesse said. The facial twitch that followed from Gail announced her wish that he would wander off somewhere.

Jonathan wished that himself. "Want to take a walk?" he asked.

"To where?" Jesse protested.

"I wasn't talking to you," Jonathan snapped. He looked to Gail for her answer.

"Sure," she said. This time, Jesse read her glare perfectly. He was staying behind.

Jonathan led the way toward the front tree line, his hands in his pockets, his rifle hanging from its combat sling like an exclamation point down the front of his body. When he felt far enough out of earshot, he said, "You go first. Why are
you
really doing this?"

She chuckled. "You really have the whole story. I didn't want to get shot tied to a chair. You wouldn't do the sensible thing and call the authorities, so I had only one choice. I had to pick a side, and as scary and hopeless as you and your little army are, the other side seems worse."

"I guess next time, you need to listen to Irene Rivers when she tells you to butt out."

"Next time."

They walked awhile in silence. "You know we have a chance of winning this thing," Jonathan said. "A good chance."

"Okay," Gail said. Another silence, then, "You haven't told me why yet."

Jonathan looked toward the treetops as he said, "The lofty answer is duty. The tawdry one is revenge. Just like any war anywhere."

Gail wanted more, then realized he'd said a lot. "What did Ivan do to your wife?" she asked.

"He killed her."

"There's got to be more than that."

"There his head. "Nope, those details are mine. You can access the reports when we're done."

When they got to the tree line, they hung a left and waded together through the scrub growth on the leading edge. "When we're done," Gail said.

"Excuse me?"

"You said 'when we're done.' Are you really going to let Jesse and me go when it's over?"

He smirked. "The phrase, 'turn myself over to you' seems more appropriate."

She didn't get it. "You're really just going to let me take you in?"

He shrugged. "That was the deal, right? You help us fight, and I turn myself in."

"That makes no sense."

"Sure it does. A deal's a deal. You caught me outright. I made mistakes and you capitalized on them. To the victor belongs the spoils."

Gail stopped. She looked shocked.

Jonathan gestured with his head for them to keep walking. "When there's a lesson like this to learn, someone needs to learn it. That someone's me. Like you said, with extenuating circumstances and all, maybe I'll be acquitted."

She was still befuddled. "I don't know whether to believe you."

"Always believe me. Especially when I make a deal. I'm really not very complicated."

"How can you speak for your big friend?" she asked.

Jonathan laughed. "I don't speak for my big friend," he said. "In fact, you need to leave him alone."

"Why?"

"Two reasons. First, he didn't have anything to do with those shootings. All he did was lift me and the kid out of trouble. I did all the shooting."

"What's the second reason?"

Jonathan looked right at her. "He'd kill you if you tried."

Night fell inside the lodge a good half hour before it fell outside. They'd carried the kitchen chairs upstairs into the master bedroom and draped blankets to create a lightproof nook in which they could operate their laptop without creating a beacon for the bad guys. The computer was set to continually monitor the SkysEye satellite images of their corner of the world. They'd configured the screen view in such a way that the cabin was in the middle of the frame, with outer margins calibrated to show a one-mile radius from the center point.

"We've got a great signal, Mother Hen," Jonathan said into his satellite phone. "Looks like we're all set here."

Back in Fisherman's Cove, Venice sat in her office scanning her three large computer panels. In the middle, she watched the same SkysEye image that Jonathan saw. On the left screen, she tracked the progress of the Brigadeville caravan as they moved ever closer to her boss's location. True to his word, Lee Burns had not been able to provide constant video of the vehicles as they moved, but he had been able to mark them electronically by their heat signatures through the SkysEye network. As long as the engines were not stopped for more than a few minutes, and the heat signatures remained constant, their position appeared on her screen as white dots on a map. She kept the right screen available for obtaining further information.

She keyed her microphone. "Scorpion, the caravan is approaching the Wal-Mart now. Ifow that they picked up on the cell phone signal. If they do, they'll be on you in forty minutes."

"Roger that," Jonathan said.

Venice watched her screen as the lead dot stopped in the parking lot of the department store, and then waited as the other seven dots converged. None of them moved.

"Okay Scorpion, they've stopped at the Wal-Mart." Knowing how much Jonathan obsessed about brief radio traffic, she didn't add her concern that they might not have picked up the clue from Stephenson's cell phone signal. Since there was no way to tell, there was no reason to say anything.

Her true concern was that they might turn off their engines. As long as the heat signatures stayed at their nominal levels, the SkysEye passive sensors could follow their progress and transmit their map coordinates for interpretation by the computer. If the heat signature changed dramatically--particularly if it cooled--the passive sensor would lose contact, and be unable to reacquire it without re-tasking the satellites, which Lee had already told her they could not do.

Venice had long ago decided't need the infighting. We're to the point where you're either on board, or you're a liability. Just let it go."

He sent Stephenson upstairs to monitor the computer screen and take some of the stress off his leg. Then he directed the others to gather all the furniture into a pile in the center of the room downstairs. With the walls free from obstruction, there'd be easy access to the windows, and they'd be able to maneuver quickly in the dark to secure better fields of fire. The windows themselves were all open wide to keep from having to break out glass when they came into service as gun ports. On Jonathan's instructions, Jesse Collier had fastened all of the doors to their jambs with two-inch screws.

He gathered them all upstairs in the bedroom for one final pep talk. With the draped-blanket light lock taking up one-quarter of the tiny space, Julie and Stephenson sat together on the bed while Thomas sat on the floor at the base of the tiny window. The rest stood where they could, with Gail and Jesse tiered on the stairs. In the light of the kerosene lanterns, their faces showed variations of dread and anger. All except for Thomas, who seemed ready to avenge his days in captivity. Boxers listened from the first floor at the base of the steps.

"Okay, folks," Jonathan began. "Our friends will be with us soon, probably within the next few hours. Listen to me. From this point on, until the shooting is over, the only way in and out of here is through the windows. It's slower than the doors, but the inconvenience largely favors us. I've put the clackers for the claymores on the floor in front of the front door. They are arranged as they are arranged out in the yard. The two middle initiators are for the mines out front, and the outboard initiators power the mines on their respective sides of the building. Do not--I repeat--do
not
activate any of the explosives until you hear Big Guy or me say, 'claymore, claymore, claymore.' We'll say it three times if we need them. Remember, these are weapons of last resort, and if you screw it up, we can be in a world of hurt. Especially me and the Big Guy."

Stephenson scowled--a good sign that he was paying attention. "Why especially you?"

"Because we won't be in here with you. We'll be out there." He tossed his head toward one of the windows.

"Oh, fine," Julie erupted.

Thomas squirmed. "Mom."

Jonathan looked at her patiently. "Remember the plan. If we can maneuver well and if the pieces all fall into place, this lodge will never come into play. That's the goal. But if they send a lot of people, or if we get hit early, you need to be prepared to defend yourselves.

"Steve, I want you to stay on the second floor. The elevation improves the satellite link, and I don't want you tearing open that leg. The rest of you will spread out downstairs. If they get past us at the ambush site, they'll come up the main road and fan out along the tree line before making their assault across the lawn. Use the NVGs I gave you--night vision goggles. The instant you hear shooting in the distance, put them on and keep them on until this thing is over. If you see anyone approaching and you don't recognize them, shoot, understand? Remember there are six sides to this building--you can't forget the roof and the crawl spaceballoons?" Thomas groused.

"Hell no," Jonathan laughed. "I don't want anybody thinking
I'm
the pussy."

Boxers called from downstairs, "Hey Scorpion, it's time to go. I want to set up the ambush while there's still a little light left."

Julie's horror deepened. "Ambush," she repeated.

Jonathan's radio crackled, "Scorpion, Mother Hen. They're moving. I don't know how many, but the one I can still see is moving, and it looks like he's coming your way.

Boxers was right; it was time to go.

They'd stacked their tactical gear at the end of the living room farthest from the windows. Jonathan pulled Dragon Skin vests from one of the duffels and passed them out to the Hugheses. "Wear these," he instructed. He handed a second one to Thomas and added, "Take this one to your father, and make sure he wears it. If he objects kick him in the leg." The two that remained were originally for himself and Boxers, but that would leave Gail and Jesse without any. He picked up the remaining two and handed them to the cops from Samson.

Jesse took his, but when Gail shook her head, he hesitated. "You're the ones who'll be out there exposed," she said. "You keep them."

Jonathan shook his head. "No, thanks, I move better without it. Besides, you're my guest."

"I won't do it," Gail said. Jesse looked like he wanted to shoot her.

Jonathan wouldn't budge. "My war, my rules," he said. "Besides, if the time comes when you need these, you're
really
going to need them."

She hesitated.

"Please," Jonathan insisted. He leaned in close and whispered, "I'm serious. If the bad guys break through, you two will be the only ones with your heads about you. If you go down, everybody's got a lot worse chance of coming through alive."

That won her over. She accepted the vest and slipped it over her head. Jesse was way ahead of her.

"Besides," Jonathan said, "I've got this." He turned his attention to his load-bearing tactical vest. Constructed of a lighter Kevlar material that provided some limited protection against small caliber handguns and shrapnel, the tactical vest would do nothing to slow down a rifle bullet. On the positive side, it was ten pounds lighter than the Dragon Skin, and made running a hell of a lot easier. Plus, it had huge storage capacity for ammo.

Boxers was delighted to see that the vests were no longer in play. He never liked the damn things anyway. If it weren't for the standing orders from Digger, he'd never even pack one.

"Remember the night vision," Jonathan reminded as he stuffed the pouches of his vest with as much as they would hold. "Put them on your heads now, and then turn them on when you hear the shooting. Remember what I taught you this afternoon. Julie, if you're not going to be shooting, you've got to be reloading mags. Meanwhile, if things go to shit, Sheriff Bonneville here is in charge. Any questions?"

He almost laughed at the blank expressions. Yeah, there were questions. Too many to verbalize. Jonathan looked Thomas in the eye. "Beer."

Thomas gave a nervous smile. "Balloons."

"Don't worry, kid, you've got what it takes. Just don't give up. Whatever you do, don't give up."

Jonathan looked to Gail to see if she had caught that lastching, and when the sheriff responded with a nod, it was time to go. "Equipment check, Big Guy."

This was a ritual before every engagement, no matter how large or small. They wore all black, from head to foot, including black Nomex gloves with leather palms for extra grip. Their Kevlar helmets supported their own NVGs as well as their commo gear. A transceiver ran from radios in Velcro pockets on their shoulder into their right ears. The radios could be set to voice-activated or PTT (push-to-talk) mode, and Security Solutions' SOPs required the latter, with the microphone triggered by a button in the center of their chests. Jonathan pushed his. "Radio check, one, two, three."

Boxers gave a thumbs-up. "I'm good."

Jonathan looked to Gail, who realized with a start that she hadn't yet turned her radio on. Jonathan repeated the three-count, and she nodded. "I can hear you," she said, just to make it official.

"Mother, are you on the air?"

"I'm here, Scorpion," she said. "Be careful."

In sheaths mounted on their left shoulders, they each carried a K-Bar knife, and on their chests they each carried two fragmentation grenades. Around their bellies, their ammo pouches carried 400 rounds of ammunition for their M4s, 40 extra rounds for their sidearms, and 18 twelve-gauge rounds for their specially modified pistol-gripped Mossberg shotguns. They carried the M4s across their chests in combat slings, with the Mossbergs dangling by bungee slings from their armpits. The sidearms--Boxers still preferred the new Beretta standard issue over Jonathan's Colt 1911 .45--were strapped to their thighs.

Believing that it was never possible to have too many weapons in a battle, Jonathan also carried a backup snub-nose .38 in the left-hand thigh pocket of his Royal Robbins 5.11 trousers. With the checkoff lists complete, they were ready to go.

"Jesus, look at you," Thomas said. His voice floated with admiration. "You're ready to take on an army. Leave a couple of bad guys for us."

Julie gasped, "Thomas Hughes!"

Jonathan smiled. This Hughes kid was not the stereotypical music major. He had fight in him. It's a shame his mother saw that as a bad thing.

Only twenty minutes of daylight remained as they slid out the window to the porch. "One more thing," he said, looking back inside. "Keep an eye on the computer. As soon as you see vehicles, take your places." They nodded, but they were unfocused.

"Hey," Jonathan said, "look at me. When this is over, we'll have a hell of a story to tell. If you want victory, we can have it. I'll see you all on the other side."